Sea shanties and maritime music

To those who know and can feel, there is a smack of salt spray in every line of these rude virile verses. To them once again will come back the creak of the blocks as the falls whine through them, and the dead heavy lurch as the boat jerks upwards... I can hardly think of any words or tunes that appeal more intimately to all the spirit of adventure that life has left in me.

Arthur Conan Doyle, Letter to F. T. Bullen, 1914

This Day in History (February 29, 1908)

This Day in History (January 8, 1806)

The death of Lord Nelson was a national tragedy like no other for England. "From Greenwich to Whitehall Stairs, on the 8th of January, 1806, in one of the greatest Aquatic Processions that ever was beheld on the River Thames" drifted the royal shallop (barge). The event is referenced in the modern lament, Carrying Nelson Home. Nelson is mentioned in nearly a dozen other songs.

Try a random shanty sampling

Liberty for the Sailors
Forecastle song

Lasses, call your lads ashore
Lasses, call your lads ashore
Lasses, call your lads ashore
There's liberty for the sailors
Liberty and money free,
Liberty and money free,
There's liberty and money free,
There's liberty for the sailors

The Bellman's called it round the town,
And far and near the news has flown
Each wife seeks out her last new gown
There's liberty for the sailors
Lasses, call your lads ashore
Lads ashore, lads ahore
Lasses, call your lads ashore
There's liberty for the sailors

Our bairns shall all be dressed so nice
Our griddle cakes be black with spice
With a pound of butter for every slice
All for to please the sailors
Our empty bottles we will fill
To cheer each passing hour until
The time is up, with right good will
Liberty for the sailors.

Rare fun down Mauldon's lane there'll be
And many a lark down Lishman's Quay
Tommy Hayes is sure to get on the spree
When there's liberty for the sailors.
There'll be a battle as sure as your life
'Twixt Mally the Pant and the black-pudding wife
And Billy Reppeth'll come in at the end of the strife,
Hoo! Liberty for the sailors.

Dressed in his jacket of matchless blue
With silver buckles and trousers new
With a heart that beats for his country true,
Liberty for the sailors.
Up to the Wooden Bridge and back,
To the Low Light shore down in a crack
Rambling, swaggering, away goes Jack
When there's liberty for the sailors.

Now every lass will get her lad
And every bairn will see his dad
And many a mother's heart be glad
With liberty for the sailors,
And many a widow's heart rejoice
To see the face and hear the voice
So like to his, her heart's dear choice
Liberty for the sailors!

Oleanna

I Oleana der er det godt at være,
i Norge vil jeg inte Slavelænken bære!

Ole-Ole-Ole oh! Oleana!
Ole-Ole-Ole oh! Oleana!

I Oleana der faar jeg Jord for Intet,
af Jorden voxer Kornet, — og det gaar gesvint det.

Aa Kornet det tærsker sig selv oppaa Laaven,
imens ligger jeg aa hviler mig i Koven.

Hej Markedsgang! Poteterne skulde Du se, Du.
Der brændes mindst en Pot af hvereneste en Du.

Ja Bayerøl saa godt, som han Ytteborg kan brygge,
det risler i Bækkene til Fattigmandens Hygge.

Aa Laxene dem springer saa lystig i Bække,
dem hopper selv i Gry den aa roper: dem ska' dække!

Åa brunstegte Griser de løber om saa flinke
åa forespør sig høfligt, om Nogen vil ha' Skinke.

Aa Kjørene dem melker aa kjærner aa yster
liksaa naturlig som Else, mi Syster.

Åa Storstuten sjelve staar inte og hænger,
han banker sine Kalve, fordi de gaar og slænger.

Aa Kalvene de slagter sig hurtig og flåar sig
aa stejker sig fortere end man tar en Taar sig!

Aa Høna værper Æg saa svære som Stabur,
mens Hanen angir Tiden som et ottedags Slaguhr.

Fra Skyerne det regner med Kolerakaker.
Aa Gubevare Dere vel for dejlige Saker!

Aa Sola hu skinner saa trufast hele Natta
saa atte man kan se i Mørke liksom Katta!

Aa Maanen hver Aften er fuld — det er sikkert.
Jeg ligger just aa ser paa'n med Flaska tel Kjikkert.

Ja to Daler Dagen det faar Du for at svire,
aa er Du rektig doven, saa kanske Du faar fire.

Åa Kjærringa og Unger dem falder paa Kommynen.
Betaler dem ikke, såa faar dem paa Trynen!

Kronarbejde findes ej — nej det var saa ligt da!
jeg såd nok ikke ellersen saa frisk her aa digta.

Vi gaar i Fløjelsklæder besat med Sølverknapper,
Aa ryker af Merskum, som Kjærringa stapper.

Aa Kjærringa maa brase aa styre aa stelle —
aa blir hu sint, saa banker hu sig sjelv — skal jeg fortælle.

Aa Fiolin det speller vi Allesammen — hejsan!
Aa Danser en Polskdans, aa den er'nte lejsan.

Ja rejs til Oleana, saa skal Du vel leve,
den fattigste Stymper herover er Greve!

I Oleana langt heller vil jeg være,
end længer i Norg min Slavelænke bære!

Ole-Ole-Ole oh! Oleana!
Ole-Ole-Ole oh! Oleana!